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Sunday, June 16, 2013

Sleep beckons...

This was the culprit that sent me
 to the grocery store. Coffee for my daughter.
I, myself do not drink the stuff!
As I write this, my bed beckons to me. I begrudgingly ignore it to place words upon a page.  These words, such sly devils, bubble up out of my mind.  In fact, they cannot be kept in, no matter how I try.

The words that are wandering through my mind this night are almost a story, a story of the people I saw today in my path. I feel like the bread crumb trails they shared with me has started to take on a life of their own.

For instance: a woman standing in line ahead of me while I waited at the deli counter at the market. She was contained, quiet and tidy, and while she appeared not to notice my quest for a "massaged kale salad", she softly said, "the one I buy is right there. The other one in the case, really isn't any good."

Before I could thanks her, she seemed to disappear. Later at the fish counter, she appeared again. Almost like a "good fairy" she magically appeared to  steer the man ahead of me in line to the type of salmon that would most fit his desires. I caught her out of the corner of my eye and when I turned my head, to make sure I had not imagined her presence, she was gone.

I looked down the aisle nearest, but she was not there.

It was just as I was leaving the produce section I spotted her again. What was she doing? assisting an elderly woman with a small watermelon. The conversation went something like this:

The produce section of the market I frequent.
"Ma'am it is the thumping sound you are looking for, like this,(thump, thump, her ear down close to the mellon).
"I see, oh, I mean I hear dear, why thank you so very much!" was the small wizened woman's response.

As I headed for the checkout counters, I saw her, thoughtfully, looking at the flowers, displayed so artfully near the register.

Now as I type this, I wonder what her life is like. I will, of course, never know. But I wonder all the same.
Someone, somewhere, shared with her, either by example or by genetics (I am never sure if it nature versus nurture) the delicate art of extending help to others, without giving offense.

Receiving help is not something we humans are programed to accept, I do not know why, but it seems to be so. It was a beauty to behold someone who executed these acts so very gracefully, and it is a reminder to me, that there is an art to giving ,that allows the receiver, to actually be able to receive the help.

With that, I am now off to sweet dreams.


  1. I thought she might be an angel (;-> Maybe the grocery angel! You are very right. Our pride, perhaps, is what gets in the way of receiving graciously, but how skillful to be able to help without offending. And even in these days when we are rather suspicious of all strangers.

    I'll try one more time with the word verification, and then give up.

    1. Kristi,
      I agree. I do think it almost always boils down to our own personal pride.

      Thank yo for you comments.


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